Trust Me, Connor
by verbal acuity
Summary: MurphConn - Murphy couldn't help but always stare at Connor at the least expected times. He let something slip, and it all came out in the open - slash, twincest.


**TRUST ME, CONNOR**  
by Collapse Overture  
**Disclaimer**: I do not want to admit that I don't own The Boondock Saints...What? I _have_ to admit it? Damn.  
**A/N**: This is my first attempt at a Boondock Saints fanfiction -- MurphyConnor all the way. I wasn't sure how to initiate it ... but I just really wanted to write one. So I did. Don't hurt me. ):

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Murphy always had a strange addiction to power. He liked to be able to tell others what to do—whether he was holding a gun or not—and he loved the ability to kill someone stronger than him (fuckin' fatass Russians). But most of all, the one person he loved to control was his own brother, Connor. The noises Connor would make—the way he would writhe beneath him—were enough to drive a man insane thinking, and insane Connor drove Murphy. Every little smile, every little sound his brother made deepened Murphy's resolve and kept him going.

"Hey, Murph, what're ye lookin' at?"

Well, maybe it didn't. Next time, he should stare more inconspicuously—Connor still didn't know about Murphy's thoughts, after all, and Murphy intended on keeping it that way. His secret fantasies about his blond twin writhing and moaning beneath him would have to go unfruited, at least for a little longer—maybe even the next time he watched that tanned, naked body step steamily out of the shower he could finally give way to them.

"Earth ta Murph," Connor's voice resounding against his ear reminded Murphy that he had indeed left his brother's question unanswered—what was it that he had asked, anyway?—an', oh God, Connor, don' move so close, I'll—he couldn't control himself; he let out a moan to the breath that danced around his ear.

Connor pulled away from his brother abruptly, eyes slowly widening, mouth agape. He was stunned into silence, his eyes unable to lock with Murphy's any longer. Murphy, his own twin, had moaned when Connor leaned closer to him, breath tingling his ear. Murphy had done that various times to the blond, but Connor never gave _that_ affect from it. Did it mean that Murphy—no, no it couldn't. There was no way; they were brothers.

"Connor—"

Murphy began to say something—of importance or not—but Connor didn't hear it; he was already out the door and on the way to McGinty's, ready to drink away his troubles, not caring whether or not Murphy followed.

--

He didn't follow. He couldn't. He knew Connor needed time to think, time to consider the consequences of Murphy's actions. He had to admit, though, he was worried that Connor would walk out on him because of what happened—but, being brothers, he knew better. Brothers always stick together, and nothing could change that. It was just a matter of giving it time and letting his brother think things through. Connor was always the most reasonable of the two, most of the time calmer than Murphy, and that was what made him so desireable.

--

Finally, around one or so in the morning, Connor stumbled tiredly into the apartment, trying to find his bed in the dark. Who the hell was Murphy to—oh, Murphy. The blond sighed. His brother was probably sleeping, so he didn't bother looking for the light switch—no need to wake him up. But unfortunately, the bed he stumbled into was occupied by a certain dark-haired Irishman, and he froze when he felt the shirtless chest come in contact with his own sleeveless arm, a small grunt following suit from Murphy's own lips.

"Connor?" Murphy muttered groggily, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

Indignantly, Connor sat up and pulled his chilled skin from the heated pale flesh. "What're ye doin' in me bed, Murph?" he asked as if he hadn't been utterly freaked out hours before.

The response Connor received was a low, amused chuckle. Murphy was truly glad Connor seemed to have calmed himself down and spoke finally once his eyes adjusted to the darkness. "Conn, this is my bed, yers is over there," he stated calmly, holding back another chuckle.

At that revolution, Connor's mouth formed an understanding 'oh' and he moved to get up from his darker twin's bed to his own, but found himself stopped by a warm hand on his forearm. Murphy pulled Connor backwards and settled the tanned back against his paler chest, arms wrapping tightly and securely around the strong shoulders of his brother.

"Murphy?" Connor's voice came out quiet and raspy, as much as he tried to hold firm to control. "Murph, what are ye—" He struggled against his brother's grasp, lifting and tilting his head to lock their eyes together, their lips almost immediately coming into contact courtesy of Murphy himself who held a triumphant smirk as his blond twin gave in to his warm kiss. It was just the way that Murphy had always wanted it to be—Connor leaning heavily into him, almost begging for more, lips parting to an urgent tongue.

Just as soon as Connor granted entrance to his mouth, Murphy pulled away and worked on stripping the tanned flesh of the shirt from his body, but was stopped by Connor's shaky hand. "Murph, this is wrong. We can't do this. We're—" Murphy cut him off again with a chaste kiss that ended sooner than it should have. The darker twin unlatched Connor's fingers from his arm and proceeded to tug off the shirt that was keeping him away from that exquisite flesh.

"Conn, I need ta do this," he muttered. He pressed his lips to the junction that locked his brother's neck and shoulder, kissing down the now warm flesh, causing urgent moans to fall past parted lips. "Ye don' understand. I've wanted this fer the longest time, brother."

Now, Connor understood. Their brotherhood had crossed to a more heated level, and Connor realized that he wanted it, too. He nodded, eyes closing, his body finally moving on its own, giving in. He felt the warm touches, the heated caresses, and he wanted more—oh, God, he wanted more. "_Christ_!" He moaned aloud, arching his chest into his brother's paler skin, fingers grasping tightly to the sheets of Murphy's bed below them. That tongue—the amazing appendage that had been in the cavern of his mouth minutes before—had found his right nipple and was licking, teasing, and circling the slowly hardening pink flesh. God, where had he learned that?

Murphy smirked and teased the nipple a little more before he pulled back and licked his own lips, locking eyes once again with his beautifully panting brother. Connor was writhing in anticipation, much like how Murphy hand wanted it to be, and his smirk only widened when Connor gave a look that told him to keep going.

"Now, now, Conn. There inn't much fun movin' fast, is there?"

Connor groaned and arched his chest again, hoping for some form of bodily contact with his brother, but Murphy pressed his hips back down as they rose from the bed, keeping him in place.

Without any words, Murphy grasped the blond's wrists and pinned them above his head, pressing his own hips into the squirming ones of his brother. Murphy still adorned his boxers, while Connor still had on his blue jeans from when he had gone out—that just wouldn't do. His fingers found Connor's discarded T-shirt and used it to hold the two wrists together and tie them above his head. That got Connor squirming again.

"Murphy, what're ye doin' now?" Connor searched Murphy's eyes for an answer but found none.

Warm fingers trailed down the blond Saint's cheek to his jaw, lingered there for a moment, then moved down along the tattooed neck to his rising and falling chest—there, he trailed designs to make his brother writhe for more touches.

Connor's chest arched again and he let out a moan. He knew what Murphy was doing—he wasn't too thrilled about the idea, either—but he just couldn't bring himself to tell him to stop and let him go. He couldn't help but want it—it was so wrong, yet it felt so right.

Finally, Murphy's talented fingers found the hem of Connor's jeans causing the blond's eyes to widen, and he spoke. "Inn't this too…far, Murph?" he tried to reason, hands trying to tug away from his own clothing that was now turned against him. "Ye're me brother, Murph. We—"

"Conn, _please_, just trust me. I need this. An' I know ya do, too."

To that, Connor just couldn't say no. There are certain things about Murphy that had always gotten to the lighter twin—his smile, for instance; it always made his heart melt. But then, when there was no smile, there was always that intoxicating whine he gave when he didn't get what he wanted. Murphy, despite the fact that he was dominating Connor, was too adorable to not give in to. And as Murphy gave _that_ smile and began unbuttoning and unzipping Connor's now constricting jeans—once Connor had nodded his approval—Connor had felt himself smile, too, against the lips that claimed his own as an allusion for many times to come.

--

Connor felt that same smile grace his own lips again as he felt the warm breath of Murphy breathing down his neck, the talented fingers tracing patterns along his side for comfort. Murphy had pulled Connor possessively against him as their spent and tired bodies rested, regaining the breaths they lost. Murphy got what he wanted, and Connor did too. It was wrong, yes, but it was the best the two of them had ever felt in a long time.

After a painful moment of silence that seemed like hours—no sounds from either of them; their breathing quiet, bodies too still for the mattress to even creak—Murphy moved and pressed himself closer to Connor, lips leaving a soft, tingling feeling to Connor's neck and collarbone. Connor emitted a soft sigh and leaned into the touch, eyes closing peacefully.

Finally, one of them spoke.

"Ya know, Conn, ye're too beautiful fer yer own good," Murphy said with a cheeky grin and Connor leaned up slightly to press their lips together, not wanting to give an actual response. Connor may have initiated the kiss, byt Murphy was the one that took the dominating role and deepened it, pressing his blond twin back down onto the mattress. "Trust inn't gonna be an issue now, is it?" he wondered aloud and watched as his brother shook his head. "Tha's good."

After a beat, Connor spoke, "Ya know, Murph," he began, pushing Murphy from his chest so he could sit up. "Sometimes, ye're jus' an idjit that happens ta be lucky tha' I love enough ta not beat."

Silence filled the room after Connor finished speaking and the blond leaned over and captured his brother's lips in a soft yet heated kiss. Pulling back for air, they entangled themselves in the bedsheets—Murphy's bedsheets—and layed together in each other's arms, Murphy's fingers soothing Connor into a fitful sleep before he, too, fell unconscious.

"I love ya, too, Conn."

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**I really hope someone at least liked it. I tried really hard. ): Please review.**


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